Monsters Under The Bed: A South Park Epic
by SunstreakersGlitch
Summary: Fairies, Werewolves, Vampires. Kyle just wanted somewhere calm, someplace sane and safe. Too bad he choose South Park.
1. Enter Stranger

**News: **South Park Paranormal stuff. Kyle is my favorite fairy. Enjoy!

An yeah, I am an eye freak, bit of a hair freak too.

* * *

**Enter Stranger/Kyle**

"Class we have a new student joining us today, his name is Kyle Broflowski. Would you like to tell us a little bit about yourself Mr. Broflowski?" the teacher, Mrs. Lane, asked, redirecting the last at me. She was a small old woman, the kind you see hobbling around on a cane who seems as though they've collapsed in upon themselves, all their bones pulled tight together and loose skin flapping about. She was entirely mousey, with impossibly brown hair and leather colored skin, although her demeanor was anything but. She seemed like the type who would slap my knuckles with a ruler if I tried anything, this attitude enhanced by the tone her voice had taken.

"No" I answered shortly and quite truthfully. My first day at South Park high was turning out horribly. Everyone in the freshman year had already made alliances, friendships, and feuds. When I spoke to someone they mostly answered in monosyllables and turned to snigger sharply with friends who stared at me in an unfriendly way, inviting no further gestures of friendship. No one spoke to me of his or her own accord.

Amid snickers and a few out right laughs Mrs. Lane glared at me sharply, her mouth set in a way that clearly said do-not-mess-with-me-young-man. "Mr. Broflowski it was clearly _not _a question. Now please introduce yourself so we may begin class." Her voice was biting and resentful, as though she were used to much more respect.

"I'm very sorry Mrs. Lane, but I clearly heard the questioning lit at the end of your sentence and the 'would you' was a dead giveaway." I said in a sweet voice, giving my most innocent grin. Normally I would never have said anything so disrespectful but I truly didn't want to say anything about myself, most other teachers were satisfied with my no but Mrs. Lane…..

The children in the class looked a bit more then apprehensive and I wondered, slightly too late, if my sarcasm hadn't been an unwise decision. Then she simply ground her teeth, quite forcefully, and grunted painfully through tightened lips "have a seat Mr. Broflowski, so that our lesson might begin." Apparently she was more of an ignore it and it shall not exist type of person then I had pegged her for because she turned away quickly and began to gather her lecture notes.

I glanced around the crowded class room doubtfully. As in my previous classes everyone had already staked their territorial claim on the seating arrangements months ago and had established a pattern, one I, the outsider, was unfamiliar with. My choices were limited; only two seats towards the middle of the room remained unclaimed.

With a groan I tightened my right hand on my shoulder bag and moved toward seat number two, placed between and a friendly looking black headed boy with freckles and a brown hoodie and a brunet boy who was glaring around the room at no one in particular. It was a better choice than the other chair which was surrounded by giggling girls, I had a feeling it was normally occupied by someone and that my intrusion would be met with inconvenient hostility.

The class seemed to drag on forever, much longer than the supposed Hour, I thought with a whine. Glancing at the clock on the wall I groaned it had only been a short while, barely more than thirty minutes. Mrs. Lane had gotten into the topic of her lecture remarkably fast. She was explaining doggedly why all the men Shakespeare used in his plays were effeminate, how exactly this impacted his literary works I was doomed to never know. The phone rang, the sound causing half of the class to jerk up in their seats and glance around quickly, because they had obviously been dozing as Mrs. Lane droned on.

She growled, actually pulled back her lips and _snarled _at the phone before walking to her desk to answer it. "Yes Ms. Garrison? What is so very important that it caused you to call at this particular instant and interrupt my class while in the midst of a _lecture_?" She said, her voice positively dripping with charm thick enough to drown in.

"I will be sure to send him right away. But please next time Ms. Garrison? Don't call during my class, even if Mr. Dillons orders you to. My students have the right to an education" Mrs. Lane's voice said after a short pause, her voice no longer sweet but deadly cold and her words hard and sharp.

When she placed the phone back on the cradle she turned back to the class, her face rigid, and she locked eyes with me. "Mr. Broflowski, Mr. Dillons would like to see you in his office, right away. Take your things and come to class with a better attitude tomorrow-young man. Sarcasm will not be tolerated."

Great less then halfway through my first day of school and I was already being called to the principals office. I shoved the pen and notebook I'd been using to doodle into my bag roughly and stood up. As I stood up I heard whispers behind me. Owing to my paranoia about _everything_, I assumed it was me they were whispering about and listened in.

All I caught were some nonsense snatches of gossip, "yea sixty-eight years…" "Heard they hated each other…" "…Cried and begged…." "…made a moon promise….Kill her….yeah"

I turned and left the room.

The school wasn't big, it didn't even have too many hallways, but I hadn't been to the office yet or even walked past such a place that looked like an office. So I had a problem. One I only grasped after I had walked down a web of hallways and corridors. I found myself at a four way crossing point, peering down all four hallways I couldn't even recall the one I'd come from. No one came from or moved in any direction, student or otherwise.

I cursed myself angrily, looking around, "Where do you hide an office?" I asked myself aloud. When no glowing nugget of knowledge came to me I cursed, heatedly, for a full minute before the loud clearing of some ones throat interrupted me.

I spun around quickly, almost toppling over as my bags weight caught me off balance, and ended practically nose to chest with a pale boy behind me. I quickly took a step back and barely stopped short of pitching backward.

"Excuse me for interrupting but, you seem lost. Might you by any chance be looking for the office?" the boy asked in a throaty voice, good enough for any country singing star. My face heated, color rising to my cheeks as I questioned "how long have been standing there?"

His face twitched ever so slightly but he maintained his stoic look of nonchalance, but his solidly blue eyes shone with obvious mirth. "Oh quite long enough to learn a few words, even I, hadn't heard before."

But my attention had shifted back to his eyes. I reassessed the boy. His hair was inky dark and was swept up in a tight braid reaching below his shoulders. He had distinctly Asian features but the height was unusual, as were his electric eyes. Oh the tilt of them went in the Asian category, a gentle up ward slant, but his eyes were solid and blue. No Asian I knew of had solid blue eyes; no _human _I knew had solid eyes of any color. There appeared to be no pupil at all in his eyes, giving them the impression of someone blind. His features were delicate and molded thinly on his bones, pitched cheeks and a bold nose. His clothing was in shades of black, ranging from deep ebony to midnight, accentuating his eyes, intensifying them and highlighting his creamy skin.

"When you get done gawking at me you can close your mouth and I'll walk you to the office. That is if you want." He commented seemingly nonplused by my stare.

"N-nice contacts," I spoke quickly to cover my embarrassment, "and I should like it very much if you would show me the way to the office, I seem to be unable to find it alone." My voice squeaked at the last, sometimes puberty's a pain.

His lips twitched ever so slightly again before he walked up to me and took my arm, turning me in the opposite direction. His hand on my arm was like a grip of iron, cold and unforgiving. I think I hid my wince as he pulled me down hallway after hallway, but if I didn't he made no comment.

He was silent the entire walk to the office, a bit more than silent actually, a little broody even. I was suddenly pulled from my silent musings by a sharp twist on my arm. My vision went white I ground my teeth and winced a bit, the boy must have some muscles hidden in his slight form.

"Hey kid we're here." The boy said quietly gesturing towards the glass door. How do you miss a solid, clear, glass door? I wondered dumbly as I stared at it. "Yeah. The office. Right, well, Thank you I guess." I intoned politely; hiding the strain within me with a smile I hoped was sincere.

"Don't thank me yet kid. You owe me now." He said and turned too quickly to fallow and disappeared down a narrow hall. I quelled the bubble of panic that rose to the surface at his words, he didn't mean it. At least I prayed he did not. Debts were always repaid with interest.

I looked toward the glass door way he had indicated was the office. I went forward and pushed the door inward. It did not move. I shoved at it harder, nothing. My eyes dropped down to just below the black bar near the handle. There in old black block lettering "Pull" was spelled out labeling its function clearly. It seemed the school itself was against me.

I pulled the door open and walked to the large mahogany desk. No one sat in the gently spinning chair behind it and no one wandered elsewhere in the office. I grumbled and looked around for a bell. It was tiny and silver and when I rang it its sound was high clear and sweet.

I stood waiting a few moments, but when it became evident no one was coming I paced agitatedly to dusky red waiting chairs. If you call a kid to the office doesn't it make sense some ones _in _said office? Collapsed into one of the chairs and flung my bag lightly into the one beside me. Waiting almost two full minutes I finally decided if I had to wait then I could read.

I pulled out a worn book with a simple black cover; across it printed in curving golden letters was the title "_**The War of the Rose" **_ it was a romantic story set during the war of the roses, a personal favorite of mine and an old story too. I was just beginning to read the best chapter, the one in which the main character, a werewolf, told the beautiful princess he would always love her as she plunged a silver wire between his ribs.

A woman stalked in, her pace was elegant and silent like a jungle cat. She looked over at me as she brushed the hanging curtain back into place, I noticed then a simple curtain I had thought hid a window, a hallway she had apparently came from.

"Hey Kid? Wad' a' ya' wan'?" she drawled in a deeply southern accent, thick as syrup. I rose to my feet and tossed my book into my bag carelessly. Then I stared at her, any sarcastic or biting words I had been ready to spout dying on my heavy tongue. Her thick red mop of hair, _and was it a wig_, was done up in a way that went out in the fifties and used so much hair spray I just know the ozone was crying, her makeup was from the same era, all understated and pale doing nothing positive for her.

"Didn't Mr. Dillons request that I come to his office, immediately?" I inquired, the shock of her not knowing why I was there releasing my tongue of lead. She had to have been the mysterious Ms. Garrison unless another lady from an outdated time happened to be hidden down the curtained corridor.

"Yer Name, young feller, what is it?" she ordered in a voice that spoke of a woman used to getting her way. "Kyle Broflowski. Shouldn't you know that? Do random kids just walk in here daily? Why don't you know who I am? Didn't you call me here?" I paused and leaned forward towards the desk to read the brass nameplate settled there, "Ms. Garrison?" I finished my suspicions confirmed.

Her eyes shot upward from the note she had been reading and flashed almost a hard silver behind blue, her eyes narrowed "Just go down this hallway, first door on you right is Dillons office." She hissed sharply sweeping the lightweight curtain to the side so I could pass, her harshly red nails glittering in the florescent lights. Her voice brooked no disagreement, and suddenly I knew I wouldn't want to meet her outside of school grounds.

As I slid past her into the sparsely lit hall I stumbled. I sailed face first toward the floor, my bag slipped from my shoulder tossing the contents out across the carpet. I heard a clear vicious laugh and a clacking of teeth as the receptionist expressed her amusement, before I was swept into mild darkness as the curtain fell into place. The whole school was against me.

I stumbled to my feet and groped around for my things. I quickly shoved my books and papers into my bag and stomped toward the outline of light to my right. The Hanging curtain was all that stood between me and the principal's office. The idea of going in the room terrified me, I'd never been in trouble before, not because of something I'd done anyway. I swung the door open without a knock and stepped in, blinking against the sudden light.

"Mr. Broflowski," a voice as cool and sweet as the summer breeze stated quietly. I was staring at the floor afraid to look up. Then shoving away my fears I looked at him. He was quite handsome; he had short curly mud colored hair and a kind tanned face with quicksilver eyes full of warmth.

"Yes sir? You wanted to see me?" I said stupidly standing in the door way unsure of what to do. "Yes please Mr. Broflowski. Shut the door some in have a seat don't be shy, I don't bite." His voice was very pleasant warm and cool all at the same time.

After I had done as he bid and shut the door I seated myself in the chair closest to him it was stiff and strait backed, uncomfortable. Placing my bag in my lap gently I looked at him again and shifted uncomfortably. There was something very volatile about those silvery eyes. I shook the thought away; he was a nice guy, he was treating me kindly anyway. He'd done nothing to earn my distrust.

"So Kyle how has your first day at South Park High turned out so far?" he asked in a way that went past normal politeness, like really wanted to know what I thought of his school. "Uh, it's been ok I guess." I had to work not to look into his eyes. I had to work not to tell him how bad it had been so far, and how I didn't have any friends yet and how it was awful.

He looked at me as if I were a puzzle that needed solving for a moment before continuing "Is there any reason in particular that your parents moved you from your old school to this one, Kyle? I mean you live between about four counties why here?"

My throat tightened closed. My last school had been a privet school just outside Park County. No one from the school board or even my foster care agency would have said a word, too much bad publicity, and anything to hurt the school was kept quiet, they could afford it. Looking at the diamond patterned carpet I counted to fifteen before retorting in a quavering voice "Not really sir, I mean it did have the highest test scores locally and I do live a bit closer to Park then any other county." Both were true.

My expression was carefully schooled and I avoided his eyes but I looked up, just to the left of his face. His smile dropped quickly, leaving his face blank and stark. My right hand twitched slightly and I covered it with my left. "Can the crap kid. Tell me who sent you. Why they sent you and you can leave. I promise if you give me what I want you can walk out and never look back, not a scratch on you." The low grating sound of his voice almost hurt.

I flinched sideways. "Sir I don't know what you mean, I simply heard you had better educators and programs so I decided to switch to this school" I said my insides coiling tightly in apprehension. What had he heard? Was it a rumor or the stark uncolored truth? A rumor would color it all wrong telling the worst bits right and everything else even worse.

"You, boy? Not your parents, Mr. Broflowski? Why would you have a choice in which school you were sent to?" Mr. Dillon's voice had dropped an octave lower. Something about his tone forced me to steal a glance at his eyes. They burned silver with anger and I jerked my eyes away and stared down at my hands which were squeezing each other tight in my lap, colored a bloodless white.

"My parents work very hard, almost all hours in a day. So mostly I have to be independent." I said using a variation of one of the lies I told everyone when any awkward questions presented themselves. The truth was my parents, my foster parents, didn't care about anything I did. Mostly they just wanted me to shut up and forced independence on me, saying it would help in the future.

I felt Mr. Dillons white hot stare on me, gripping my hands tighter. A moment later he snapped out "That's all. Please go back to your class." I looked up sharply and he motioned to the door with his left hand grabbing his desk phone with the right. I took the dismissal for the gift it was and scrambled out the door clutching the bag tightly.

A shrill ring sounded as soon as I stepped out the office doors. Fourth period had arrived. Pulling out my schedule as I walked down the hall, I wanted to put as much distance between me and the office as I could and the creeping of the flesh on the back of my neck didn't disagree, I checked my fourth period class. The class was French two with a Mrs. Polsky.

* * *

**StarGuide2012**


	2. Write me A Letter

**Notes: **This is a story I want to be good, sucessful, relevant and fantastical. Read, Review. Make me a better Author so I can go beyond the greatest Authors. Give it a chance.

* * *

**Write me a letter/Eric**

When I walked into French two I was already pulling out a Sports Magazine to read. I sat in my usual seat, so far in the back of the room you couldn't hear much of anything the teacher said. That wasn't much of a problem for me. School was hardly at the forefront of my mind. I doubt I would ever care to speak French at any point, _ever_. Mostly I just read during the class and occasionally slept, not that anyone minded a long as I wasn't disruptive or snoring.

The tardy bell rang a signal to everyone still standing up or talking to shut up and claim a seat fast. One boy wasn't fast enough I noticed over the edge of my book. He stumbled in the door way just as our teacher, Mrs. Polsky walked out of her supply closet into the room.

The boy wasn't as pale as some humans, let alone some of the not quite resting in peace, but his skin was pale enough to show blue blood highlights through his flesh in the florescent lights. His sky blue eyes glowed from his pale face, mildly panicky. I couldn't recall having seen him before. I pulled in a deep breath of air through my nose, he didn't smell familiar. He wasn't any type of thing I could place exactly, his essence was permeated with magic, and it didn't flow in his veins. My nose wrinkled, he was not a witch, no designs scrawled down his inner-arms, no paint or old blood smells clung to him.

"Young man, who are you? And why are you here?" Mrs. Polsky barked, setting her face in a fierce growl and placing her hands on her plump hips.

Despite being middle aged she presented a fearsome image, but nothing truly terrifying. The boy shrank back on his self, grabbing his bag, whimpering slightly, such a display of submission was perfectly shocking.

Mrs. Polsky dropped the act when she looked into his eyes and widened her own in pure shock.

"I'm new; my schedule says to be here. I was in the office, I'm s-sorry." He said, stumbling over the apology.

It was slightly sickening the way he was looking at her, almost in tears when she'd hardly displayed aggression.

"It's alright boy. You're Kyle Broflowski, are you not? Yes, yes go have a seat, try not to be late tomorrow." She said waving, vaguely, for him to go away as her attention turned toward the lesson.

He smiled in relief; it was almost an attractive look, if it weren't for the flinch that lurked just behind his eyes. Standing a little straighter he looked over the class. I ducked my head further behind my Magazine, not wanting to be caught in eye-contact. I wasn't sure enough of my control to look at the submissive mess of a boy, not without want to shred him into pieces.

Welcome to south Park.

I heard the thump of his bag against his body as he moved down the aisle. The closer he got the more I frowned. There was only one seat this near to me. The seat directly across the aisle. The seat adjacent to my own. He was going to sit next to me; probably under the pretense he thought it was the safest seat in the class, so far in the back with no one behind him. His thoughts were utterly submissive.

I marked my place and sat my book on my desk, slumping back in my seat, the universal cool guy pose shrouding me in an attitude of careless ease. His eyes were on the floor so he couldn't see me and once he slid into his seat, he pulled out a book, not even glancing up to see the assignment on the board. That threw me, he was acting submissive he _smelled_ god damned submissive, but he was going to defy an authority he had shown fear of less than two minutes before, to _read_?

Mrs. Polsky didn't even look backward, she went straight to the lesson, conjugating verbs or something as useless, and the boy began reading. His clothes were nondescript pale gray jeans and matching tee shirt with brown sneakers and messenger bag. I'm not saying my clothes were flashy but my outfit had logos and colors, the boy dressed to blend into the background. His clothing choices made him stand out all the more in my eyes.

His looks were anything but usual though. He was thin in a sprinters way, all lean muscles ready to flee. His skin was pale Caucasian white, a smattering of freckles, though none were on his nose, dotted across his narrow face. His nose was gently up turned set above a dainty rose petal mouth that was pinched in concentration. His wide eyes were large and a molten fire blue that was almost green in their richness. But his hair, it was the biggest shock, vibrant shade of red that made you think of poetic adjectives like claret and burgundy. His hair had shades of auburn and strawberry golden, mixed with a fire engine red that was almost unreal, it reached just past his chin waving appealingly to frame his face.

I found myself interested in the boy. He was odd, and any form of entertainment was a welcome respite from this fucking boredom. I had an idea, a sort of feeble one but as good as any, I would simply write him a note. It was easier said than done I found when I actually had set pen to paper. Sticking the tip of the pen in my mouth to think I glanced over at the boy and had a thought. Scribbling quickly in my chicken scratch handwriting I finished the note quickly.

Reviewing it, and being satisfied it was in no way threatening, I slipped the folded triangle across my desk and on his. It made a slight thump, not loud enough for anyone farther away than me and the boy to hear but it made him jump. His book snapped shut and was inside his bag almost too quick for me, and my more than normally heightened sense of sight to catch.

He glanced around and then, upon seeing the note resting on his desk he grabbed it quickly and peered around furtively. From his actions I could tell my original assumption of submissive was more than correct.

His eyes skimmed the note and, picking up his forlorn pencil scribbled a hasty reply. Oh goody. The boy stared straight ahead at Mrs. Plosky's ample backside as he tossed the note with precision onto my desk.

Smirking I unfolded the note and read.

* * *

Hey, Kyle,

I think,

what book are you reading?

Eric

* * *

Um, my name IS Kyle.

I'm reading the house of mirth, by Lilly Bart.

* * *

Kyle I almost burst out laughing, what boy had handwriting that, for lack of any other word, pretty? Glancing back down at the note I smiled, the house of mirth, a classic. Forcing my more arrogant smirk back into place, I scribbled quickly back to him.

* * *

That's cool,

Really good book,

This Magazine is great too,

Michel Phelps issue

* * *

I pushed the note into the center of the copy of Sports Illustrated, with a swimmer across the cover, that I had been reading. Then I slid the book across the aisle onto his desk. He looked slightly startled but picked the magazine up carefully and examined the cover; with a smile he read the note. Quickly he scribbled back. I was slightly disappointed that he didn't even scan the back, oh god what if he was one of those people who just _looked_ at a book, to see if they wanted to read it?

Oh fuck.

I caught the magazine as he tossed it my way and eased it onto the desk, making much less sound. I pulled the note out and smoothed it flat. So many creases, so fast.

* * *

I'm not much of a sports fanatic,

Really,

But thanks for the offer.

* * *

I looked blankly at the scrap of paper for a moment. How could he talk so, frankly? He wore clothes that screamed wall flower, he absolutely stank of submissiveness. And all I could think was how glad I was the kid knew how to read books, as his athletic ability was an obvious loss. This boy, he could prove to be interesting. I hid my smile and had another amazing idea, no sarcasm; I'm just that good.

I scribbled the final note and slipped it onto his desk as the bell rang. Standing up I couldn't help but grin at him as I said "Pretty please?" in the cutesiest tone I could muster. Turning my back and walking out the door. His mouth almost flew open.

Another kid left in confusion, It's good to be me.

* * *

**StarGuide2012**


	3. Lockers Are For Losers

**Notes: **See, I have more! Really! Just R&R okie?

* * *

**Lockers are for losers/Kyle **

The upside was I had someone to eat lunch with, scratch that, unknown multiple some ones. That kid, Eric, had given me a last note before leaving. The note asked if I would like to eat with him and some friends. Very much a happy thought, eating with other people and not all huddled up on a toilet seat with my knees to my chin trying to read a book in the half light of broken, buzzing, and blue florescent light bulbs.

Ok a little over dramatic but basically true.

The down side to this lovely fairy tale? I had no clue where this school hid its cafeteria.

I was wondering down hallways that all seemed the same and hadn't seen any clue of a lunchroom of any sort. I took a step forward, after seeing a poster I had a suspicious feeling I had seen at least three times before, and suddenly the floor was falling toward me. My bag, being feisty today, decided to make friends with the handle of a nearby locker. When the floor stopped moving my face was barely an inch away from kissing it, my body was pulled at an awkward angle by bag, my legs were left dangling, nowhere near the floor, my midsection next to the locker handle. I barely had time to register my predicament before a pair of strong arms griped my waist, and looking up I saw my prince and his white horse and we rode off into the sunset and lived happily ever after.

Not really but hey, I can dream!

The pair of arms was connected to the boy who had helped me find the missing office earlier. My feet hit the ground and when my waist had been released the boy unwound my treacherous bag from the locker handle and looked at me.

"Not that I don't enjoy damsels in distress but seriously, I've already rescued you twice. Didn't the school like give you a tour?" my savior said with a wicked smirk.

My face flushed, not even registering his words I stammered "Thank you…..err, I don't seem to recall your name?"

He looked at me a moment before taking a step back and bowing elaborately. "My name is Stanly Marsh, at your service…"

"Kowflowski Bryle. Err I mean Kyle Broflowski." My face felt like it as on fire, is it possible to burn with shame?

"It is a pleasure to meet you Kyle" he replied gravely.

"Why aren't you in the cafeteria, it is lunch time." His eyebrow did this weird quirk when he asked me.

Alright I wasn't just burning with shame, I was boiling and melting and smoldering with it, I was surprised I didn't spontaneously combust on the spot. Oh god, do I admit I am completely lost or fake it. There was no shame in admitting I was lost, but I had a feeling Stan would find it amusing. Faking it was.

"I was on my way there when the locker reached out and cruelly tried to gut me." I said, pulling myself up as tall as I could and mustering together all the shreds of dignity I had left.

My haughty glare fell short though due to the fact that I was glaring at his _chest_. Hard to maintain superiority you don't feel when you're not even tall enough to glare some on in the eyes

"Oh you were? Forgive me for assuming otherwise but the direction you seemed to be heading is almost completely opposite the cafeteria. But since you obviously know where you're going I'll leave you to it." His voice held all the amusement his flat and blank face didn't betray.

He turned to leave and I couldn't let my only chance at finding the cafeteria go so swallowing my pride I called out. "Wait" he turned and looked at me, his face pleasant but blank

"Yes, Kyle?" I chose to look at his chest, not daring to see his eyes, should they show the humor he had to be feeling.

"You know I'm new, and I haven't even been here a full day, so would you please help me find the cafeteria?"

"Would you like me to walk you there?" his voice was almost as blank as his face.

I looked way, way, way up into his eyes and smiled, blinking a long blink I said squeakily "Please?" His face melted into a small, but still there, smile.

"Follow me." He said warmly before inclining his head and heading down the hall.

I smiled and hurried after.

* * *

**StarGuide2012**


	4. Orange

**Notes: **Mooooooore for you know, that one single follower I have.

* * *

**Cafeteria Cliques/Eric **

I was livid.

I was absolutely furious.

I was in a fucking rage.

Kyle must have decided to blow us off. The nerve that little bastard had. All innocent and submissive, just blowing _me _off. ME! Trying to be the suave guy I was I continued shoveling steak into my mouth as I watched the door. My concentration, which isn't good at the best of times, was nearly nonexistent when I was multitasking, so I ended up trying to push the steak into my cheek, with streaks of steak sauce going from my mouth all down my cheek. Sniffing in indignation I turned away from the door, which I had not been staring at, no way, and grabbed a napkin to wipe my face with.

I froze.

Sucking a deep breath in, I opened my senses. I heard the stampede of people. Snatches of conversation sounded in my overly sensitive ears. The pure stench of untouched, zero magic, no powers, human. Opening my eyes I looked in the direction of the smell. With another breath I smelled the strangest magic I had ever encountered, it was wrapped around him like a cloak, but not attached directly to him.

As soon as I opened my eyes I saw him. How could I not, his clothes were the opposite of normal for this place. Bright colors and neon shoes, brilliant makeup and wild hair were the norm here, he stuck out from the way he looked more than his human normalness. Even my cool guy calm couldn't handle that, him being so obvious, and completely unaware of his vulnerability.

When he brushed against the arm of a mean looking boy I knew to be a Werewolf my already fraying strands of composure snapped and I called out to him, before the Werewolf boy could react.

"Kyle, we're over here!" even waving my arm a little so he saw me.

Ignoring the stares my friends, and indeed everyone in the room, were giving me I smiled when he turned around and saw me. He turned back around a moment and tugged on some ones sleeve, I couldn't see who, and said something even my ears couldn't distinguish. The person didn't turn around, so I couldn't tell who he was, all I could see was his height, not many taller figures around here, Height comes with power and power, real true power, is rare as magic beans.

When Kyle turned back around he walked toward my group smiling. His walk was out of sorts with the look on his face. He seemed to be overjoyed, but his walk, he was acting like a puppy kicked so many times he just couldn't stand tall enough for his master to kick him again. When I looked back to the doors to catch a glimpse of the boy he'd come in with I didn't see him, searching the lunch line didn't work.

By the time I gave up Kyle was within talking distance of the table.

"Hello Eric! Am I still allowed to sit here?" he asked quietly, looking straight over my head.

I gave him credit his lip didn't tremble and his back was strait but I could smell his fear. Fear that I would say no. fear that this was a trick to make him feel weaker. My face grew hard.

"Yes Kyle please sit."

"Who are you?" Butters, a boy we called shark these days, asked bearing his dagger teeth, his voice had a nasty edge I didn't like.

"This" I interfered before Kyle could say a word. "Is my new friend, Kyle Broflowski? The one from French I've been telling you about."

"Relax Eric. Sharkster isn't like you; he can't see the point of picking up stray little creatures. I admit even I'm puzzled, I mean look at him, he screams 'Take me I'm weak' and wears submissive like French perfume!" Bebe said as Kyle sat trying to decrease the tension in the air.

Her middle name should've been olive branch; she always tried to play both sides, making everyone happy. Kyle decided to ignore her comment, or maybe he hadn't heard. He sat, taking the seat opposite me and pulled out a tin lunch box from his bag. It was old metal and the scraped up paint didn't give any clues as to what was supposed to cover it.

"Eric I'm so sorry. I just um, couldn't find the cafeteria; I would have been here earlier if I could have. I'm sorry. Stan something helped me here or I never would have been able to get here before the bell rang. It's the second time he helped me today, the first time was to find the office you know." His voice was high and he was very nervous.

"Oh that's O-" my words died in my throat as I processed his words. Had he said Stan? Cold One, Murderer of innocent's. Mortal enemy of me and any other sane creature.

"As in Marsh? Stan motherfucking Marsh? He helped you?" my throat felt thicker and I knew I needed to calm down but _Stan_!

"Yea, I guess. It was. Why, you guys know him?" he asked carelessly as he pulled and orange out of the lunch box with an identity crisis, he didn't even bother to look up.

He was lucky. Bebe's face was twisted in something between horror and disgust, she hated the would-be dead almost more than anyone I knew. Butters face was a frozen mask of shock, almost unable to register a weakling like Kyle talking to and _walking_ away from a top notch bloodsucker like Stan. And my own face was hardly pretty, but unlike the others I was mostly just mad, seemed to happen like that a lot lately.

"Know him? I suppose you could say that." I said, fighting to make the words come out normal, measured, so we had time to compose ourselves before he looked up.

The strain must have shown in my voice because Bebe gave me a look, her Sun darkend face hardening in a 'we are smart enough, move the conversation along boy's' way.

"Kyle, why did he talk to you? What did he say?" I asked hesitantly, shaking my head gently towards Bebe to reassure her I knew what I was doing.

Kyle didn't look away from the orange he was scratching at fruitlessly, pun intended, as he replied.

"Nothing, _really _it was nothing at all. He told me how to get here. Said life at South Park was interesting and that he would see me very soon." I relaxed, an ominous message of sorts I expect, but relatively harmless.

"I was just a little taken aback is all; he's, almost, a very important member of a gang. I just thought if he was talking to you it would have been something noteworthy." I finished, looking away from Butter's gaping mouth and Bebe's burning eyes.

Maybe I had said too much but I had to warn the boy before he ended up freefalling into that kind of danger. Kyle froze in his struggle with the orange.

"The principal assured me, most explicitly, that no Gangs, or any form of organized hate group were permissible on the premises and any persons found to be implicated in such groups were instantaneously withdrawn from educational facilities and brought before courts." Kyle's voice had risen an octave and his speech had went from regular teen to collage professional in a zero to sixty way that promised worse to come.

The smell of fear that wafted off of him caused Butter's and Bebe's eyes to smolder silver, power trickled its way across my skin, a delicious wave of heat. I growled a low warning that had nothing to do with human needs and everything to do with animal possessiveness; no one would eat this creature but me.

"It's not that type of gang-" I began, hoping my vocal cords would get the message I was franticly sending them to stay human.

Kyle cut me off though, his voice going even higher

"He Expressly said no Gangs!" his eyes had widened and he looked like a horse ready to throw his rider and bolt.

"Kyle is there a problem?" Bebe asked carefully, in a voice you use when you're speaking to the slow or stupid, and personally I didn't blame her.

I admired her for the face that she could form words around the cloying scent of absolute undiluted terror roiling off the boy in waves. We three stared at him hard, his breathing slowed to normal and his eyes gradually lost their wild and feral look. He took one last deep breath before beginning his apology.

"I'm sorry about that, guys, it's just…" he trailed off looking ashamed. He wouldn't lie to us but he hadn't told the truth either.

The orange in his hands was squeezed so tight I was surprised it hadn't leaked on his hand yet.

"Kyle, do you know Bebe or Butters yet?' I asked shattering the tense silence, since Kyle wasn't saying anything else. Kyle looked up appreciatively from his orange, and smiling, shook his head. I grinned wide.

"Well this little tid-bit is Bebe." I indicated the girl on my right.

He glanced at her, and then glanced back. Bebe was a lot to take in at once. Her hair depended on her mood, and varied day to day from lemon yellow to night black, today it was spoofed in an eighties attempt at defying gravity in fire truck red. She always wore brilliantly mismatched clothes in blinding colors and today was no different. Her outfit consisted of an orange skirt, just to the tops of her knees in ruffles, a purple vest over a long sleeve lime green and watermelon pink shirt, a pair of yellow and red horizontally striped tights and a pair of skater shoes in metallic gold. Paired with her golden honey colored skin and her green eyes, flashing silver in lights like the animal she was, she was quite a sight and Kyle was fascinated.

"Now this ferocious kid is Butters, or the Shark." I pointed to Butters, still stuffing his face with mystery meat.

Butters is basically a normal teenager; the only remarkable thing at first glance is his utterly unremarkable features. He had medium brown hazel eyes, medium build, and thin blond hair in a not too-long hair cut. When he opened his mouth though, no one asked him any questions. His teeth were twin rows of dagger sharp teeth in pristine white and crowded his mouth, like they should belong to someone with a much larger jaw, and in fact they did. The teeth gave him a lot of leeway, he was the kind of boy who played Hello Kitty Island adventure for hours.

Butters and I had experimented as kids with our powers, who wouldn't?

We had both shifted to early, when we were only about eleven. Werewolves normally don't shift until puberty or later because our human bodies can't handle the changing back and forth required at least once monthly. When we shifted I had ascended, which is basically how you tell who's dominate, Alpha's eyes stay a permanent silver color, even when human, but Butters wasn't so lucky.

When I ascended I gained the power to shift easily between my skins, Butters didn't. Butters was forced to stay in the form of a wolf for four days. When he shifted back his teeth were glistening and dangerous.

"His full name is Leopold Stotch, but we call him Butters, or to newer folks, Shark 'cause his wicked sharp teeth." I added. Kyle nodded.

"My name's Kyle Broflowski, I'm fifteen and I just moved here." He tried to lower his head shame, but the effect was ruined by his continuous munching of the orange. The bell rang, startling us all, like it didn't ring at the same time every day. We all rose making our goodbyes and smiling politely. Still though the tense atmosphere hadn't cleared away, it was just too shockingly new to let go yet. As Kyle turned away we all headed toward a side entry to the school, dumping our trays and leaving. We had to talk, and we couldn't talk here. It was much too many strange coincidences and accidental happenings in too short of a time.

* * *

**StarGuide2012**


	5. Freaks and Physics

Chapter 12: Murphy's Law/ Kyle The next day didn't start quite as I had planned. I woke up at almost fifty after seven. The tardy bell rang at South Park at eight twenty in the morning. I didn't have time to feed the baby, let alone bathe him. All of which took about forty minutes, when I didn't even have that long to get to the school. I threw on some grey jeans and a t-shirt that seemed to match and grabbed my school bag. I went in the baby's room before leaving the trailer and picked him up. He didn't wake but snuggled closer to me, unconsciously seeking warmth. Grabbing his blanket and a change of clothes for him as I made my way to the door. I slipped my shoes on as easily as I could, wile expertly balancing the boy on one shoulder with my palm as I opened the door to the trailer lot. I walked through the gravel lot, past rows of simi-rundown trailers until I came to the faded yellow and cream trailer from more than a decade past. The front porch, if you could call it that, was a set of broken down stairs made of withered, brown, wood. The potted flower on the tiny porch was shriveled up and dead, waiting for the warmth of summer to bring back its faded glory. The dead plant made the house with the slashed screen door and rusting yellow paint look even less appealing. It was what I'd thought when I'd first laid eyes on it two years ago. I certainly didn't have enough time to think about all of that before I hurried up the sagging stairs to open the door. "Mrs. Tucker? Are you awake?" I called into the Smokey gloom of the trailer. None of the lights were on but I heard her moving about. I was still startled when I heard her speak. "Kyle! What on earth are you doing here so late? That damned bus of yours is going to be here in a few minutes." She was standing right beside the door. She flicked the light switch on and I sighed with relief. I had seen the play-pen sitting beside the overstuffed floral print sofa. The play-pen was a grubby, used, fisher-price deal and had some questionable stains on it, but the fact that she had it out meant she was prepared to watch the baby. I smiled at her and went to lay the boy down in the pen. He was still sleeping as I lowered him gently, tucking his thin blue blanket up to his cherubic cheeks with a small smile on my face. I turned back to the elder lady letting my smile drop. "I'm sorry for being late, and I hope you didn't wait too long for me yesterday morning it's just…." I trailed off. It was one thing for someone to be abused, but admitting it, even to people who won't judge you or call you a liar was entirely unlikely. Besides Marion Tucker was old, she hardly needs to know more about my problems than the one I was already foisting on her. "I hope you don't think it's an imposition but… I didn't get a chance to bathe him this morning." I said slowly, changing the subject effectively. If Marion noticed my blatant avoidance regarding my strange absence the day before she didn't call me on it. She simply lifted a blond eyebrow and nodded in amusement. Marion was at least pushing on fifty but she looked much younger- years in fact- and she acted like she was eighty. She was a tremendously tall woman, with the longest elegant fingers of anyone I'd ever met. Her skin was a light as my own, though hers had a healthy pink caste rather than my own sallow one, and her hair was a perfect blond, so solid though I almost thought she had dyed it. "Kyle, we'll be fine. Just go on to school, I think I can handle the scamp for eight hours." She said, going for playful but managing a barely-there hint of worry. I smiled even brighter than before, "Sorry Mrs. Tucker, I have to work tonight, you'll have to hold on to him until sometime after ten." _Depending on how quickly I got a ride, and who from_, "Hope it's not a bother to you" _even though I know it is, still what else can I do?_ "And don't worry; I'll pay you on Friday." I added before I swept out the door, trying to calculate how much money I would owe her in two days. I almost missed the quite whisper of "But I do worry…" as I clambered down the rickety steps. She didn't try to protest or stop me this time. She had, in the past, insisted on doing this for free. I had been equally persistent in making her understand I did not except charity. The boy was my responsibility, if his own parents wouldn't take care of him, I sure as hell could. Besides, If hadn't gotten a job neither of us would have food, neither of us would have clothes, neither of us would have light. So it was mutually beneficial for the two of us kids. Babysitting was just one of those expenses I worked to pay for. And my job paid under the table, money that was tax free and far beyond minimum wage. Almost as soon as I left the trailer the hideous yellow bus had pulled in front of it. I ducked my head and focused my thoughts on nothing as I headed to the back of the bus. School wasn't interesting to me, merely a distraction between myself and work. But I welcomed whatever distraction I could get. Work was hard and it sucked thoroughly. I was a clean up boy at the garage a half mile from my trailer. It was decent enough, only a few hours a night. But lifting car parts, cleaning windshields and inhaling fumes would never be my idea of a good time. 


	6. Territorial Dog

**Notes: **This is a story I want to be good, sucessful, relevant and fantastical. Read, Review. Make me a better Author so I can go beyond the greatest Authors. Give it a chance.

* * *

**Write me a letter/Eric**

When I walked into French two I was already pulling out a Sports Magazine to read. I sat in my usual seat, so far in the back of the room you couldn't hear much of anything the teacher said. That wasn't much of a problem for me. School was hardly at the forefront of my mind. I doubt I would ever care to speak French at any point, _ever_. Mostly I just read during the class and occasionally slept, not that anyone minded a long as I wasn't disruptive or snoring.

The tardy bell rang a signal to everyone still standing up or talking to shut up and claim a seat fast. One boy wasn't fast enough I noticed over the edge of my book. He stumbled in the door way just as our teacher, Mrs. Polsky walked out of her supply closet into the room.

The boy wasn't as pale as some humans, let alone some of the not quite resting in peace, but his skin was pale enough to show blue blood highlights through his flesh in the florescent lights. His sky blue eyes glowed from his pale face, mildly panicky. I couldn't recall having seen him before. I pulled in a deep breath of air through my nose, he didn't smell familiar. He wasn't any type of thing I could place exactly, his essence was permeated with magic, and it didn't flow in his veins. My nose wrinkled, he was not a witch, no designs scrawled down his inner-arms, no paint or old blood smells clung to him.

"Young man, who are you? And why are you here?" Mrs. Polsky barked, setting her face in a fierce growl and placing her hands on her plump hips.

Despite being middle aged she presented a fearsome image, but nothing truly terrifying. The boy shrank back on his self, grabbing his bag, whimpering slightly, such a display of submission was perfectly shocking.

Mrs. Polsky dropped the act when she looked into his eyes and widened her own in pure shock.

"I'm new; my schedule says to be here. I was in the office, I'm s-sorry." He said, stumbling over the apology.

It was slightly sickening the way he was looking at her, almost in tears when she'd hardly displayed aggression.

"It's alright boy. You're Kyle Broflowski, are you not? Yes, yes go have a seat, try not to be late tomorrow." She said waving, vaguely, for him to go away as her attention turned toward the lesson.

He smiled in relief; it was almost an attractive look, if it weren't for the flinch that lurked just behind his eyes. Standing a little straighter he looked over the class. I ducked my head further behind my Magazine, not wanting to be caught in eye-contact. I wasn't sure enough of my control to look at the submissive mess of a boy, not without want to shred him into pieces.

Welcome to south Park.

I heard the thump of his bag against his body as he moved down the aisle. The closer he got the more I frowned. There was only one seat this near to me. The seat directly across the aisle. The seat adjacent to my own. He was going to sit next to me; probably under the pretense he thought it was the safest seat in the class, so far in the back with no one behind him. His thoughts were utterly submissive.

I marked my place and sat my book on my desk, slumping back in my seat, the universal cool guy pose shrouding me in an attitude of careless ease. His eyes were on the floor so he couldn't see me and once he slid into his seat, he pulled out a book, not even glancing up to see the assignment on the board. That threw me, he was acting submissive he _smelled_ god damned submissive, but he was going to defy an authority he had shown fear of less than two minutes before, to _read_?

Mrs. Polsky didn't even look backward, she went straight to the lesson, conjugating verbs or something as useless, and the boy began reading. His clothes were nondescript pale gray jeans and matching tee shirt with brown sneakers and messenger bag. I'm not saying my clothes were flashy but my outfit had logos and colors, the boy dressed to blend into the background. His clothing choices made him stand out all the more in my eyes.

His looks were anything but usual though. He was thin in a sprinters way, all lean muscles ready to flee. His skin was pale Caucasian white, a smattering of freckles, though none were on his nose, dotted across his narrow face. His nose was gently up turned set above a dainty rose petal mouth that was pinched in concentration. His wide eyes were large and a molten fire blue that was almost green in their richness. But his hair, it was the biggest shock, vibrant shade of red that made you think of poetic adjectives like claret and burgundy. His hair had shades of auburn and strawberry golden, mixed with a fire engine red that was almost unreal, it reached just past his chin waving appealingly to frame his face.

I found myself interested in the boy. He was odd, and any form of entertainment was a welcome respite from this fucking boredom. I had an idea, a sort of feeble one but as good as any, I would simply write him a note. It was easier said than done I found when I actually had set pen to paper. Sticking the tip of the pen in my mouth to think I glanced over at the boy and had a thought. Scribbling quickly in my chicken scratch handwriting I finished the note quickly.

Reviewing it, and being satisfied it was in no way threatening, I slipped the folded triangle across my desk and on his. It made a slight thump, not loud enough for anyone farther away than me and the boy to hear but it made him jump. His book snapped shut and was inside his bag almost too quick for me, and my more than normally heightened sense of sight to catch.

He glanced around and then, upon seeing the note resting on his desk he grabbed it quickly and peered around furtively. From his actions I could tell my original assumption of submissive was more than correct.

His eyes skimmed the note and, picking up his forlorn pencil scribbled a hasty reply. Oh goody. The boy stared straight ahead at Mrs. Plosky's ample backside as he tossed the note with precision onto my desk.

Smirking I unfolded the note and read.

* * *

Hey, Kyle,

I think,

what book are you reading?

Eric

* * *

Um, my name IS Kyle.

I'm reading the house of mirth, by Lilly Bart.

* * *

Kyle I almost burst out laughing, what boy had handwriting that, for lack of any other word, pretty? Glancing back down at the note I smiled, the house of mirth, a classic. Forcing my more arrogant smirk back into place, I scribbled quickly back to him.

* * *

That's cool,

Really good book,

This Magazine is great too,

Michel Phelps issue

* * *

I pushed the note into the center of the copy of Sports Illustrated, with a swimmer across the cover, that I had been reading. Then I slid the book across the aisle onto his desk. He looked slightly startled but picked the magazine up carefully and examined the cover; with a smile he read the note. Quickly he scribbled back. I was slightly disappointed that he didn't even scan the back, oh god what if he was one of those people who just _looked_ at a book, to see if they wanted to read it?

Oh fuck.

I caught the magazine as he tossed it my way and eased it onto the desk, making much less sound. I pulled the note out and smoothed it flat. So many creases, so fast.

* * *

I'm not much of a sports fanatic,

Really,

But thanks for the offer.

* * *

I looked blankly at the scrap of paper for a moment. How could he talk so, frankly? He wore clothes that screamed wall flower, he absolutely stank of submissiveness. And all I could think was how glad I was the kid knew how to read books, as his athletic ability was an obvious loss. This boy, he could prove to be interesting. I hid my smile and had another amazing idea, no sarcasm; I'm just that good.

I scribbled the final note and slipped it onto his desk as the bell rang. Standing up I couldn't help but grin at him as I said "Pretty please?" in the cutesiest tone I could muster. Turning my back and walking out the door. His mouth almost flew open.

Another kid left in confusion, It's good to be me.

* * *

**StarGuide2012**


	7. Complicated Proceedings

**Notes: **See, I have more! Really! Just R&R okie?

* * *

**Lockers are for losers/Kyle **

The upside was I had someone to eat lunch with, scratch that, unknown multiple some ones. That kid, Eric, had given me a last note before leaving. The note asked if I would like to eat with him and some friends. Very much a happy thought, eating with other people and not all huddled up on a toilet seat with my knees to my chin trying to read a book in the half light of broken, buzzing, and blue florescent light bulbs.

Ok a little over dramatic but basically true.

The down side to this lovely fairy tale? I had no clue where this school hid its cafeteria.

I was wondering down hallways that all seemed the same and hadn't seen any clue of a lunchroom of any sort. I took a step forward, after seeing a poster I had a suspicious feeling I had seen at least three times before, and suddenly the floor was falling toward me. My bag, being feisty today, decided to make friends with the handle of a nearby locker. When the floor stopped moving my face was barely an inch away from kissing it, my body was pulled at an awkward angle by bag, my legs were left dangling, nowhere near the floor, my midsection next to the locker handle. I barely had time to register my predicament before a pair of strong arms griped my waist, and looking up I saw my prince and his white horse and we rode off into the sunset and lived happily ever after.

Not really but hey, I can dream!

The pair of arms was connected to the boy who had helped me find the missing office earlier. My feet hit the ground and when my waist had been released the boy unwound my treacherous bag from the locker handle and looked at me.

"Not that I don't enjoy damsels in distress but seriously, I've already rescued you twice. Didn't the school like give you a tour?" my savior said with a wicked smirk.

My face flushed, not even registering his words I stammered "Thank you…..err, I don't seem to recall your name?"

He looked at me a moment before taking a step back and bowing elaborately. "My name is Stanly Marsh, at your service…"

"Kowflowski Bryle. Err I mean Kyle Broflowski." My face felt like it as on fire, is it possible to burn with shame?

"It is a pleasure to meet you Kyle" he replied gravely.

"Why aren't you in the cafeteria, it is lunch time." His eyebrow did this weird quirk when he asked me.

Alright I wasn't just burning with shame, I was boiling and melting and smoldering with it, I was surprised I didn't spontaneously combust on the spot. Oh god, do I admit I am completely lost or fake it. There was no shame in admitting I was lost, but I had a feeling Stan would find it amusing. Faking it was.

"I was on my way there when the locker reached out and cruelly tried to gut me." I said, pulling myself up as tall as I could and mustering together all the shreds of dignity I had left.

My haughty glare fell short though due to the fact that I was glaring at his _chest_. Hard to maintain superiority you don't feel when you're not even tall enough to glare some on in the eyes

"Oh you were? Forgive me for assuming otherwise but the direction you seemed to be heading is almost completely opposite the cafeteria. But since you obviously know where you're going I'll leave you to it." His voice held all the amusement his flat and blank face didn't betray.

He turned to leave and I couldn't let my only chance at finding the cafeteria go so swallowing my pride I called out. "Wait" he turned and looked at me, his face pleasant but blank

"Yes, Kyle?" I chose to look at his chest, not daring to see his eyes, should they show the humor he had to be feeling.

"You know I'm new, and I haven't even been here a full day, so would you please help me find the cafeteria?"

"Would you like me to walk you there?" his voice was almost as blank as his face.

I looked way, way, way up into his eyes and smiled, blinking a long blink I said squeakily "Please?" His face melted into a small, but still there, smile.

"Follow me." He said warmly before inclining his head and heading down the hall.

I smiled and hurried after.

* * *

**StarGuide2012**


	8. Lunchless Dates

**Notes:** See! Longer!

* * *

Chapter 8: Lunch-less date/ Eric

After my talk with Bebe and more depressingly Butters I was in a pissy mood all night. Snapping at my mother and going to bed before it was even dark outside.

My morning stared before the sun rose, and I just knew it was going to be one of the worst days of my life. My alarm rang at almost five am, exactly three hours before I had to be at school. I lay back down after turning it off, trying to get back to sleep when my cell phone went off. Shrieking about how some one was bringing something back, I was to tired to decipher the lyric's.

And it was a text.

A mindless two word useless text.

_Contact name:_ Butthead

_Message: _ Don't Bother.

I understood immediately, and was extremely pissed. On my way to school each morning I stopped to pick up Butters. He never really bothered to get his licenses, but he didn't want to ride the over crowded bus. He didn't want to see me today.

He would rather deal with crowds of idiots. Rather be isolated and alone and defenseless if some higher ranked jackass decided to start something.

I understood him being mad, I really did. I had endangered both Butters and Bebe. But that did not give him the right to put himself in an uncomfortable and dangerous position when I could protect him. He just had to bend his neck.

Butters obviously had assumed I wouldn't be awake, not being a morning person and all, and had sent me a completely stupid text anyway.

He knew me better than that.

Fucker.

After that I decided I needed to shower. As soon as I had striped and was in the process of getting in the bath, I skidded on the _No Slip _bath mat and landed on my ass, hard, taking the curtain down with me. After cursing my life, my ancestor's lives and any future generation's lives I got into the tub. Prepared to take an hour long bath in stead of the shorter shower.

I had the time and needed some kind of pick me up.

The water wouldn't come on.

I couldn't even hear squeaking pipes or groaning as the water thought about coming out. No bath for me. After ten minutes I was fed up. I got out got dressed and went down stairs to grab some food.

Instead of milk our fridge had only covered Tupperware bowls filled with sloshing pink water and hunks of uncooked meat. As I slammed the door shut I noticed moms note on the front. Instead of attempting to pick it off the already irritating fridge I just read it. It was short and to the point.

* * *

And pissed me off even more.

Son, No food in the fridge, ok?

Going to cook some of the meat tonight though.

Went to work early, early, early.

Have a great day, and pick up some paper plates on the way home, I also think you need a new collar, soon!

_Mommy_

* * *

After staring at the TV for the next few hours, watching blankly the Paid Programming crap about a sweeper that cleaned every type of clothing while building your muscles and looking pretty… or something, I finally left for school.

Thankfully my car started, wasn't low on gas and made it all the way to my parking space before I got out. My plan for the day was to stalk the little boy, the one who was here to fuck with us all, until I sensed some hint of treachery and then I could attack him no worries.

Or on the tiny little minuscule possibility he was innocent I would simply scare him.

But of course.

Right along with the rest of my fucked up day, nothing went right. It wasn't until around lunch time I finally considered the possibility he was absent. Searching the school high and low, asking everyone about him, was out of the question, too suspicious and we certainly didn't need the negative attention.

I had already ensured there was a 'we' in all of this, after all.

When I sat down to lunch I wasn't sure whether Butters would sit with me or not, I counted on Bebe though, to be sitting with me. On my side as she seemed last night. Maybe I had given her to much credit, or not enough time to think. 24 Hours was a lot of worry and concern.

My table was empty; I sat my tray down with a clatter and threw myself into a chair. I tried picking up my fork but I couldn't force myself to lift it up. I ended up staring at my disgusting school food.

Not for the first time I thought over what I had done yesterday. I had declared us traitors, without even giving the two people who mean the _world _to me a chance. Two people who saw past my despicable façade. Two of my only friends, and one who was dependent on me for safety and protection.

I had taken away both their lives and their choices.

No chance.

They couldn't win.

What was I thinking? Even if Dillions was trying to destroy us, the _adults_ would take care of it. We were kids. We were powerless.

I suddenly felt cornered, as if I were physically being backed into a corner. I had to get out of the school. Without even bothering to dump my tray I ran out of the cafeteria. I slammed through the back exit doors toward the student parking lot, not even thinking about next classes, or going home, or moms stupid note.

But I was stopped as I barreled face first into someone's chest. I reared my head up barely stopping the growl already rumbling in my throat.

"Hello there Eric, been a while!" an enthusiastic voice said, his face tilting down the couple inches it took for our eyes to meet. The voice was deeper, mature and much hoarser. The face was narrowed down and defined, without the roundness of youth I had known him with. His hair was longer, reaching down almost to his shoulders. He was inches taller than me, almost a foot taller than three years ago.

But his eyes were the same.

Golden orbs seemingly lighted with an incandescence that wasn't mortal.

Instead of retorting I pushed past him and made my way to my car. Only to find another, shorter, and more terrifying version of the boy in the way of my escape.

"Oh my. Are you trying to escape from my dear brother?" his voice had the barest hints of humor.

I didn't try to stop the growl from erupting this time.

I encouraged it.

"Get the fuck away from my car DeLorne" I snapped shoving him away from the door he'd been propped against. He chuckled darkly and moved out of my way.

"I thought we were past all that? You know my name" His silver eyes met my own with steely determination. "Use it"

He whispered it. But I felt the suggestion in that whisper, the invitation. If I would only mouth his name. I'd forgotten the sensation of his voice, like I'd tried to forget so many things about him. I'd forgotten his power, the natural air of authority.

"Christophe DeLorne." I spoke his full name with frustration.

I jammed my key into the lock on my door just as Gregory, the fairer of the DeLorne brothers, laughed. I smelled fire and then smoke. Gregory was inhaling deeply, funny, I never had heard of a fairy who smoked. It seemed so beneath them, humanly. The essence of what the Fair Ones hated, I had to laugh.

"Come now Eric, let's not be childish. In fact I think we all knew one another quite" Christophe spoke his words dropping lower and smoother "_intimately. _You can call me Chris."

And with the one word, by simply speaking the nickname I was drowning in memories.

The innocent.

Greg and Chris winding up their swings on the play ground, the setting sun glinting on their metallic hair, gold and ink black entwining and blurring together as the tension went out of the chains. The three of us lying in a heap of blankets at a sleepover, our cherubic faces lit with glee. A more peaceful and childish time before powers and hate and the struggle to rule everyone had taken over our lives.

The painful.

Chris whimpering as he curled closer to Greg, me on his other side, with crimson seeping from his clamped shut eyes. The first time I saw Chris sent flying across the room, a fist to his jaw that left a purple mark for weeks. When he hit the ground with a sickening thud. I thought he had died then. My first painful looks into the lives that had built the hardened brothers that I knew so very well.

The terrifying.

Greg's body out lined in golden light, his hair standing on end effulging everyone around with an ever deepening heat. Chris beside him eyes wide and blank pools of mercury as his voice poured out in the eeriest wail. Both so caught up in what they were doing they didn't notice me then. Huddled in a corner, almost as compelled as their victims to walk into the golden fire pouring from Greg. The day animals and small creatures couldn't satisfy their deep need to harm and hurt and destroy.

Worst of all were the memories of love and sweet afternoons.

Chris leaning his forehead against a pane of glass while rain ran down the other side, casting phantom images across his cheeks in the moon light. Him turning toward me, with a small almost invisible smile, just for me. That last night before they left, Chris lying back sprawled easily on my sheets, as if he owned them, owned me. His shadowy hair fanning around him in a halo, his pale ivory skin completely covered by my midnight comforter, the peace painted on his face as he slept on.

I recoiled forcibly from the thoughts and yanked open the door to my jeep.

"I thought you guys were gone for good." I didn't ask it, I didn't give a damn what their answer was. Out of the corner of my eye, just inside my peripheral vision, I saw Greg pause as he brought the stick of tobacco up to his mouth.

"How kind of you to-" Lance began before I cut in harshly.

It was harder than I would have thought to stop him from going on.

"Fuck you DeLorne. Greg; you are the only one permitted to talk. Tell me why you two are here. Back in _my _town." I couldn't handle Chris's illusions or even his voice, without the magic outlining it.

That these two had come back wasn't my concern, but that they were here at the same time as my treasonous thoughts were bubbling to the surface, that bothered me. The two of them, shades from a better life, were the icing on the cake of dispare this day had become.

They obviously wanted something, no other reason for the two of them to come back here.

No other reason to talk to the boy they had abandoned. Whether or not I was part of the reason was all I cared about. If they needed me for something I had no hope of shaking them till I did as they asked, but if I wasn't essential they might be chased away.

Greg's reply wasn't sarcastic or smug, if nothing else that would have been enough to shake me. "Dillons."

And with that one word I found an ally and an enemy much too close for comfort.

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**StarGuide2012**


	9. Resolute

**Notes: **Nothing new, just faster updates. R&R please?

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Chapter 5: Freaks of Physics/Kyle

I was still on edge about the Stan ordeal as I moved through the confusing mesh of hallways to my next class. My life had not been a roller coaster ride of joy. But it could have been much worse.

In little towns like South Park you didn't think much about gangs and violence.

But it happened.

My previous school had been private, and yet, we had been infiltrated by the teens that lacked intelligence to do anything, teens that had no idea what the world held for them. Teens that liked violence a little too much.

I was scared and I knew it.

Scared of a repeat, another incident, another lie, another breath of pain I couldn't handle. The students seemed too loud, their clothes too bright, and the entire school was just generally too cheerful. Like some kind of plastic world that you'd see on television. Stan didn't seem like a vicious gang member who would beat some innocent kid mercilessly, for just being themselves or existing. He, himself, looked as though he was rebelling against his own kind of oppression.

A gothesque gang banger?

It was a little on the far side of believable.

Still I had to be more careful of the people I met. And more weary of their friendships. I hadn't been thinking clearly, I was only glad to be out of my foster family's house and in a new place, somewhere I could maybe start over. My innocence was a point of contention for me. Even now, after my world weary view had expanded, I could not believe the worst of someone, anyone. Every fair chance was a dangerous way to live.

My next class and the last of this excruciatingly lengthy day was physics. It was an easy class, one I had already taken and passed at my previous school. But it was the highest level offered at South Park high school. An hour and a half of a class like that might drive me slowly insane.

Simple problems I already understood. The droning of some under qualified and pissed off teacher. Mono-tone and unenthusiastic. Disintegration of my superior brain cells at a higher rate then I could handle.

Sometimes my life just feels like an unbelievable joke.

The class room was pretty easy to find. As I was becoming more familiar with the school I noticed the science and math classes grouped together in one wing and the language classes were in the east wing, on the opposite side of the building. The lunch room sat squarely in the center with the office at the western most tip of the school close to the bus drop off area and the physics class room.

I walked into the room and took a wall seat, turning my back to the wall facing outward to the room. Almost no students were in the room but the teacher, Mr. Simmons a shiny goldish plate sitting on his desk read, was sitting behind his large oak top desk sipping from a Styrofoam cup and marking papers with a red pen. He hardly glanced up when I came into the room; to absorbed in grading papers so red marked I worried for the class's sanity, and obvious lack of intelligence.

The bell rang a few minutes later and the professor stood up, knocking a pile of precariously perched papers from his desk onto the floor. His clumsiness was highly amusing, though, Since I had zero high ground to preach from I couldn't laugh, it was tempting but I managed.

After roll call, _roll call in a Physics class I ask you_, he launched immediately into a lecture, writing across the board with an exuberance that left him tripping over words a five year old could easily say. Mr. Simmons seemed to be honestly enthusiastic about his subject but still such an inexperienced teacher you could practically smell his fresh out of the box scent. I wondered if he came with an optional set of spectacles, it would have completed the high school teacher look.

He was young and almost handsome if you liked the pale scholarly type, and when he talked about numbers his whole being seemed to glow. The whole lesson was a simpler repeat of what I had learned last semester at my previous school. So accordingly I paid absolutely no attention and drew aimless squiggles across my paper.

About an hour in I was shifting restlessly in my seat and completely bored out of my mind when I heard the breathless silence come over the room. I looked up glad of anything to make the boredom go away. Mr. Simmons was staring in my general direction and the boy in front of me looked distinctly uncomfortable, an anxious expression dominating his features.

A glance at the board showed the incomplete problem a simple equation. I held my breath for a moment thought quickly and before my momentary bravery escaped me I leaned forward. "The answer is forty-five" The boy in front of me didn't hesitate speaking the answer immediately, the teacher smiled at him, not a quite pleasant smile and turned back to the board.

He slumped backward and let a breath of relief escape before he turned. He leaned back against the wall studying me. I did the same. His eyes were half lidded, and shone a brilliant pale blue. The color of a perfectly cloudless day in April after the rain-washes most of the dominating blue away leaving only a warm hint of what's to come. His face was a sun-bronzed master piece, sloping cheek bones highlighting a mouth with an upper lip thinner than the bottom giving him a perpetually pouting look made somehow more sensual by the delicate eyebrows and small nose perched neatly over them. His hair was sun lightened blond almost white next to his deep tan and reaching just to the color of his shirt and curling wispily around it.

"How did you do that?" he asked quietly, his voice was rich and mellow.

"I don't think you were paying that much attention until you straightened up. I didn't hear any paper rustle and the answer was right, did you guess?" he persisted when I didn't answer.

I looked away and murmured something unintelligible. He didn't give up.

"What was that?" he asked a little more heatedly.

I turned to face him head on, his pouting lips were pursed and his eyes widened to glare at me. I looked down again and said almost loudly "It was a basic question, why didn't you know it?" I couldn't help a glance up, thinking I might have gone to far but his eyes were smiling and a soft chuckle escaped his lips.

"What was that Mr. Broflowski?" Mr. Simmons was glaring back at me. I sunk lower in my seat and whispered, mortified "Nothing sir" Mr. Simmons looked at me hard.

"I don't quite believe you. Now if you and Mr. McCormick find my class so amusing why don't you tell me how to solve the equation?" his voice was full of contempt, he obviously thought I could not solve the equation stretching over half the board.

My smirk must have been pretty gruesome looking because his eyes widened and his own smile melted off his face. "The answer is six." I smiled wide, and I tried not to let more of my own contempt for the man seep into the smile I offered than was necessary.

His looked disconcerted but turned back to the lesson. I closed my eyes and sighed out my relief. When my eyes opened I met the boy in the seat in front of mine's own pale ones. They held no trace of the lazy ease they had glowed with earlier.

"My name is Kenny McCormick." He didn't ask my own name but he let the statement hang.

Smiling a many times less happy smile I replied. "My name is Kyle Broflowski."

He studied me a minute longer before he launched full throttle into a conversation I was unequipped to deal with. "What grade are you in? What's your favorite band? Where do you live? What's your favorite movie" and a dozen other niceties happy-go-lucky people in the average television fantasy ask people to lead the way to a golden friendship.

I was so surprised I answered.

I was about to ask his own personal opinions on things when the bell startled us from our discussion. I can't help but think the timing was more than a coincidence.

I smiled sheepishly and gathered up my things, why does it seem like once something comes out of your bag it doesn't fit back in it? Just a mystery of the universe I suppose.

"Hey listen, do you want to eat lunch with me tomorrow?" Kenny startled me by asking. When I hesitated he hurriedly amended "Only if you want to I mean. You must have dozens of lunch invitations right? Well uh I better go." He began backing away.

"Wait!" I yelled out in surprise. Kenny spun around a hopeful look on his face, the hurt look he hadn't earned the right to, washed away.

I paused another breathless moment and went on in a rush, hoping my bravery wasn't over played, and said "I would love to" _not strictly true but a social nicety_, "eat lunch with" _a total stranger_ "you!" I looked at my feet and went on into mindless babble. "Um, do you have any friends you need to ask, I mean about sitting with you? Because I know how friends are" _Lie_ "they might feel threatened by me" _The big ferocious mouse _"and feel not very nice towards me intruding, or you including me."

Kenny's smile lit up his face, illuminating his skin and his eyes flamed a hot glacial blue and his yellow hair was golden light. I smiled back before I could stop myself placing a frown on my face. He laughed and said "Friends?" his question seemed almost genuine, except the glint in his eyes spoke wickeder things, "I'm much more of a, _lone wolf_."

I grinned and felt a warm glow spread through my limbs, so this school wasn't turning out so bad. We walked a down the hall a few steps and Kenny stopped me by his locker.

With his head in the cubical above the coat area he asked loudly "So you want to walk to the parking lot? I've got to pick up my car, but maybe I can drive you home?" When I didn't respond he pulled his head out and looked at me wearily.

My face must have been pretty confusing because my feelings felt sort of like a combination of a tossed salad and a gerbil hit by a Mac truck, all mashed together and pounded flat.

"Is something the matter Kyle?" When I get extremely upset my voice gets a harsh overtone, like the metallic taste that you get when you put a spoon covered in fudge in your mouth, it covers the sweet gooey taste, which I like to think of as my better nature, and burns people like acid. My words don't sound like a Middle American kid from Colorado normally but when I get upset I sound like a professor, at least that's what I like to think.

So I don't think I was to upset when I snapped quietly "How old are you Kenny?"

He looked at me funny, like he hardly believed me. I kept my glare solid and I looked up to him, his height hadn't bothered me at first, it wasn't like I was a person you could compare height and age with, but now he seemed too tall to be a wimpy freshman. He looked down at me, not quite my eyes; I noticed he didn't meet my eyes at all after the initial assessment no matter how hard I tried to catch his.

"Relax; I'm old enough to drive. Besides I think the principal would have something to say about underage driving." His laugh was just a little too late and came off shaky.

"Doesn't matter, I asked how old you are"

He looked hard at me, trying to see my motive. "I'll be eighteen in May, why? Does it matter?"

"No, of course it doesn't." I said, though my frown was stretched across my face for sure now.

I couldn't understand why it bothered me so much that I had assumed he was a freshman and had been wrong, it just did. It felt like a minor betrayal even though he hadn't actually said he was as young as me.

His eyes shifted back and forth for a moment before he said slowly "Will you still walk to the parking lot with me?"

I shook my head immediately but said half jokingly "I have to hunt down the bus stop, this whole school is like a maze, way too many hallways to be efficient."

He looked a little disappointed, but he began walking away and calling back "Later, don't forget lunch!" A quick look around the halls gave no sign of which way the kids would have disappeared down to find a bus. I went the opposite direction Kenny had, in hopes of finding my wayward bus.

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**StarGuide2012**


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